


caffeine cold

by sunflashes



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Retail, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-05
Updated: 2015-10-21
Packaged: 2018-03-05 12:59:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3121046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunflashes/pseuds/sunflashes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>The man is wearing a shirt that has many small holes in it under his open peacoat, and it reads “SUCK MY RICHARD.” He is also wearing a scarf that could give That One Scarf Lenny Kravitz Wore That Once In That Photo a run for its money.  </i>
</p><p> </p><p><i>Patrick hates himself so much for being instantly attracted to this spectacle.</i>  </p><p>Patrick works at Starbucks in the ritzy Chicago mall Water Tower Place; Pete has just started working at Topshop across the street on the Magnificent Mile.  Retail hijinks ensue. Will Patrick survive the holiday rush? Will Pete last a week at his new job? Will they fall in love over lattes? All this and more contained within. (rated G for now, will end up at mature/explicit at some point guaranteed)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. and i can't see straight

**Author's Note:**

  * For [littlesnowpea](https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlesnowpea/gifts).



> welcome to my retail AU, not-so-loosely based on my actual life working in mall retail (though not at Starbucks). 
> 
> this is chaptered, so naturally expect irregular, rare updates because i am a piece of shit. 
> 
> questions? drop me a line here or [on tumblr](http://carnivalbearsetfree.tumblr.com/ask).

“Did you stock up on milk and half and half?” Patrick asks Kayley. She is half his age, probably, she looks like maybe a freshman in high school and Patrick, as a senior at Columbia College, constantly finds himself biting back saying “what are you, like, twelve” to her regularly. 

“Mmhmmmm.” Kayley responds tartly. She snaps one of the espresso machines into action to make herself her morning free drink. “It’s not as fun when you have to make them,” she sighs. Patrick can almost hear various sad face emojis after her words. 

“I’m sure you’ll manage. Some people don’t get free stuff every day at their jobs, Kay.” She makes a face at him and Patrick remembers it’s maybe 7:00 am and he’s messing with someone uncaffeinated. He shuts up. 

“Jesus Christ, I hate people.” Christina skids into the Starbucks island, slams open the closet, and stuffs her coat and bag inside it. 

“Traffic that bad?” Patrick asks from where he’s filling the different sweeteners. 

“There’s fucking ice on the fucking Red Line tracks and then the first bus was too full so I had to wait for the second one and it’s cold as SHIT out there.” Christina punctuates her words with angry jerks on her apron strings as she ties the hideous green thing around her. 

“Jesus.” Patrick attempts to sympathize as best he can while dumping sugar from a gallon ziplock bag into a container. “I’m sorry, shit. I catch the Red Line too and they were out there scraping the tracks at like six…” 

Christina ties back her curler-kinked hair and purses her ruby lips in one final sigh before she gets to work trying to find the stacks of cups they keep… somewhere. In one of the many cabinets. 

Patrick sets out three cups and writes the names of his everyday regulars on them. They’ll inevitably show up in about 15 minutes, the first in a long line of Water Tower Place employees that need coffee before opening their own stores. Patrick was shocked once at the insanely early call for Starbucks employees—seven in the morning when the other stores open at nine?—but his Barista outer shell has grown so thick that he’s immune to mornings now. Or at least he tries to be, because he opens all the fucking time. The early call was rough at first, but Patrick can’t imagine this shift without his cup of coffee from Einstein Brothers, and he feels a certain empathy with the other openers who need their morning pick-me-up before rolling up the metal gates or opening the chic glass doors of their stores to the hordes. 

 

Patrick begins the rote motions of steaming the milk for Diana and Valerie’s chai tea lattes—two of his everyday first customers who like their drinks searing hot, “like you,” they always say to him and drop crumpled singles in the empty tip jar in front of the register. He pulls the carton of chai tea flavoring out of the mini-fridge and overloads Valerie’s with it while under-rationing it for Diana’s. He completes the drinks with two shots of espresso apiece just as the two women, a blonde and a redhead, approach the Starbucks stand, heels clicking as they disembark the escalator. 

“Patrick, you are an angel.” Diana, the blonde, looks neat and pressed in her trim cream-colored sweater and crisp black slacks but exhausted nonetheless, and she manages a smile as Patrick slips a “caution, hot!” sleeve on her drink and hands it over. 

“ _Au contraire_ , Diana. You’re confusing me for you again,” Patrick grins at her. He tries to make their interaction every morning as pleasant as possible. She always looks like she needs it. She smells like menthol cigarettes and hands over a five. Patrick makes the customary show of trying to hand her her change, but she refuses it, as always, and Patrick pretends to slip the two singles down the collar of his black button-down and into his imaginary bra. Valerie catches on and laughs what sounds like an honest laugh, and Diana is so startled by this little gesture that she can only bark out a laugh before she starts coughing. Valerie takes her drink from Patrick and hands him a five as well. 

“Keep the change,” Valerie says, still laughing, her copper curls bouncing and haloing her face. 

“Much appreciated, darlin’.” Patrick tips an imaginary hat in their direction and the two women walk off toward the lingerie store they run. 

“Where’s Anthony?” Christina asks. “He normally shows up with Valerie and Diana.” 

“I’ve got his cup here, I don’t know what’s keeping him. He always opens.” Patrick taps his fingers against the rim of the last of the three cups Patrick pulled for his regulars. Anthony works at Topshop across the street and he has a serious Starbucks addiction. He comes in at least twice a day every day for a seriously souped-up caffeinated, sugary mess of a beverage. 

Kayley cranes her neck over the top of the low, rather ineffective frosted windows surrounding the booth. Her eyes widen and she looks at Patrick. 

“Customer coming, but it’s not Anthony. It’s just some dude.” 

“Why are you looking at me like that, then?” Patrick asks, smiling slightly exasperatedly at her. 

“Holy shit, he’s really hot.” Christina answers the question for Kayley and then ducks down to get a syrup refill to hide her blush. Patrick once again has that “what are you, like, twelve” feeling, but he chides himself inwardly, as Christina is his age and going to DePaul for music, which you cannot do unless you’re fairly fucking skilled.

“Um, hi?” A voice from behind Patrick snaps him out of his murky, vaguely irritated train of thought. He spins around and is faced with a stylishly grungy, tattooed man with the sides of his dark hair shaved down to stubble and a rakish sort of grin on his face. The man is wearing a shirt that has many small holes in it under his open peacoat, and it reads “SUCK MY RICHARD.” He is also wearing a scarf that could give That One Scarf Lenny Kravitz Wore That Once In That Photo a run for its money. 

Patrick hates himself so much for being instantly attracted to this spectacle. 

“How can I help you?” Patrick snaps into retail-face to shut his thoughts down. 

“Hi, um.” The man pauses, consulting the menu and evidently not finding a single item to his taste. “I know this is like, really weird, but could you possibly put a fuckload of epresso shots into a venti pumpkin spice Frappuccino?” 

Like his appearance, Patrick is rendered almost speechless by his question. 

“I... but espresso shots are hot and Frappuccinos are a cold drink?” He says, and it comes out as more of a question because you’re never supposed to outright refuse a customer anything, no matter how batshit it sounds. 

“It’ll melt it a little faster so I can drink it faster. I’m so sorry to do this to you, but I changed Starbucks from the one in Wilmette—“ 

It is at this point that Patrick loses retail-face because all he can think is _the one in Wilmette? There are like 500 fucking Starbucks in Wilmette, the richest suburb in the entire Chicagoland area—_

“—And my Barista there put up with my shit cause he knew me and I’m really sorry but it’s my first day at a new job and I need comfort food. Or drink, I guess.” 

He looks concerned and apologetic, and Patrick doesn’t really feel bad about catering to his weird request because it was so… earnest? 

“Yeah, of course, I can do that.” Patrick says, and the man’s expression melts into relief. He smiles widely, revealing frankly horsey, slightly too-bright teeth, and Patrick cannot for the life of him understand why he is charmed by this. 

Kayley snickers behind him and Christina turns around quickly as Patrick whips his head around to glare at them. 

“Thank you so much, dude. I like, really need this. The train was super fucking late and I hate pretty much everything at this point.” 

“Yeah, they tend to run slow during the first ice of the winter. What store did you get hired at?” Patrick rings up the order and makes small talk as he swipes the man’s card through the reader. It comes up approved and he passes it back. Their fingers touch. The man is wearing fingerless gloves and Patrick is so torn between the urge to roll his eyes at them and the urge to withdraw his hand immediately because of the unexpected contact that he’s sure is making him flush up from his collar and turning the tips of his ears pink. 

“Topshop,” The guy says, and Christina, before Patrick can stop her, interrupts. 

“Are you replacing Anthony?” She says, and it comes out sounding kind of accusatory. Patrick is kind of mortified. 

“What? No, Anthony is the guy that hired me!” The guy says defensively, obviously afraid of Christina, which, honestly, any self-respecting human being should be, because she does not fuck around. 

“Oh my god, really?” Her demeanor softens and she flashes him a bright smile. He seems bewildered. Patrick nudges Kayley to start making the Frappuccino portion of the strange drink order as he starts off the espresso shots. “Anthony got promoted, guys!” 

“Hell yeah,” Kayley says, totally deadpan and devoid of any kind of emotion, and Patrick shoots her a Look, the No-Swearing-On-the-Job Look. She shakes her stick-straight pale blonde hair over her shoulder and sticks her tongue out at him. 

The guy smiles at Patrick slightly uncomfortably, having run out of conversation topics but still waiting for his drink. 

“I’m Patrick,” Patrick surprises himself with his boldness. As he says the words, he kind of can’t believe he’s saying them. They sound like they’re coming from someone with actual self-confidence. “I’m here basically every day in the morning, so if you need your fix, you know where to find me.” He actually winces at that, how fucking crappy was that line oh my _god_. 

“I’m Pete, and I will definitely be taking advantage of that.” Pete offers Patrick his “gloved” hand, and they shake awkwardly over the counter. 

“Order up,” Kayley yells, just to fuck with Patrick. Patrick starts a bit and pulls his hand away quickly. Pete picks up his drink and takes a sip. 

“Perfect, thank you so much! I’ll probably see you tomorrow, to be honest. Bye, Patrick!” 

Pete waves goodbye with his free hand as Patrick returns the salutation. 

“Bye, see you then!” 

He turns around as soon as Pete gets on the down escalator and descends from view. 

“I told you he was hot,” Christina says, pointedly not looking at Patrick while smirking and rinsing out the blender. 

“You were not wrong.” Patrick says, and flicks on the garland of holiday lights strung up around the Starbucks booth. The chime sounds throughout the mall signaling it’s open for business, and Patrick braces himself for the onslaught.


	2. yule shoot your eye out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Patrick would be delighted if he never saw another peppermint mocha again. In his entire life.

Patrick would be delighted if he never saw another peppermint mocha again. In his life. He is currently scrubbing the dried peppermint syrup from the countertop and giving it a fair bit of elbow grease with barely any results. It's too early for this shit; he wonders fleetingly if turpentine would remove the syrup and slightly horrifies himself with how seriously he considers it. He is broken out of his weird, bleary reverie by Kayley coming back from the stockroom, looking a little panicked. "Please don't say it," Patrick holds his finger up in warning. 

"I gotta say it, dude. We're out of Venti cups." Kayley raises her hands like she's surrendering. 

"Fuuuuck." Patrick tips his head back and says loudly. They've got twenty minutes before the mall and their kiosk opens and they are _fucked_. 

"I could call down to Shaya and ask her if she's got any to spare on the first floor?" Christina suggests, shrugging hopefully. 

"Yes, fucking absolutely do that immediately, fuck, what would I do without you?" Patrick claps his hands together emphatically and Kayley lets out a huff. It's probably 80% joking but Patrick can see that little sister complex kicking in. "And you--" he rounds on her and she looks confused; not sure whether to be scared or delighted. "--are also perfect." He finishes, smiling broadly. She grins back, placated. Christina has dialed by now and taps the toe of her orthopedic shoe against the scrubbed-raw tile of the kiosk floor. 

"Yeah, Shaya, hi, this is Christina from the Starbucks upstairs..." Patrick lets her work her magic and tells Kayley to start prepping the additive and straw station. She salutes him and pulls out a giant bag of Sweet N' Low from underneath the espresso machine. She stocks the different colored packets while humming along to the shitty Christmas music playing over the mall speakers. It's too early for any of that trite, tinny Christmas cheer, but when you're working very closely with cinnamon and other festive coffeeshop ingredients, shit happens. Patrick joins Kayley in humming along to the Carol Of the Bells and it's one of those fucking Hallmark moments until Christina hangs up, looking grim. 

"No." Patrick looks at her, temporary good mood evaporating. 

"I'm sorry--" Christina starts, only to abruptly stop herself while focusing her vision on a point almost directly behind Patrick. He whips around to see what she could possibly be so struck by, and there he is again. The guy from yesterday, wearing an equally awful shirt (this one sports " _give me head til I'm dead_ " written in a font constructed from bones), smiling like he can't help himself despite clearly being exhausted. 

"I'm so sorry," Patrick begins, because he has to get the hang of apologizing to people about this Venti disaster and he might as well get some practice in now. 

"What? Why would you be sorry?" The stranger -- _Pete_ , Patrick mentally smacks his own forehead -- looks genuinely concerned. It's disgustingly endearing, the earnestness of the expressions that cross his handsome face. 

"We're out of Venti cups today," Kayley cuts across Patrick, taking the bullet for him. He shoots her a look of intense gratitude and she shrugs and smirks. Pete looks a little relieved. 

"Thank god, I thought you were gonna tell me you were out of all things caffeinated or some shit like that. Can you imagine? I might have died," Pete breaks out into a megawatt grin, and Patrick is aware that his cheeks are heating up to a slow simmer. 

"I think we can manage to cram a fuckload of espresso into a Grande cup today," Patrick says by way of consolation, and Pete nods his assent. 

"Sounds perfect. Make me something that's awful for me and I'll be even happier." Pete puts forth as a challenge. Patrick takes up the gauntlet. 

"You bet." 

Pete seems very satisfied with the plan as Patrick goes about making his drink, but he looks thoughtful and doesn't attempt small talk, and Patrick can tell that something's brewing--and not just coffee. 

"I'll be right back," Pete says suddenly. "Can you hold my drink for me?" 

"Sure," Patrick calls after Pete, as he's already turned away and is walking fiercely fast toward the escalator, wallet chain and peacoat flapping against his legs. 

"What do you think that's all about?" Christina asks in the midst of stuffing the refrigerator full of bacon, egg, and cheese breakfast sandwiches. 

"He's a weird one," Kayley supplies, and Patrick shoots her a Look.

"I have no idea," Patrick answers after a long pause. He finishes the double-chocolate monstrosity and keeps it right next to the espresso machine to keep it warm. 

A few minutes pass and the Starbucks team is doing the final sweep before opening. Kayley is commenting on the lackluster cake pops they were sent two days ago when they hear footsteps slapping against the polished tile of the mall floor. 

Pete approaches the booth, three bags full of enormous stacks of Venti cups under his arms. Patrick does not know what the _fuck_ to do with himself. He's pretty sure his mouth is open in pure jaw-dropped awe, just fucking taking a hot second to process what has just occurred. 

Kayley takes the cups from a cheesy-smiling Pete, who catches his breath and then regales them with the tale of the cupnapping. 

"I went around the corner, cause there's this shitty Starbucks that never has any good flavors and I asked them if they could help out. Turns out, they accidentally ordered a few too many Venti cups this week and they were more than happy to oblige." 

"Your drink is on the house." Patrick blurts out, completely unable to stop himself. Kayley snorts and presses her hands to her mouth, mortified at her reaction. "And... thank you. So much." He presses on. 

"No, I couldn't accept that," Pete tries to hand Patrick a $5 bill but Patrick puts his hands up and refuses to take it. 

"Nope, your money's not good here, sir." He can't help but smile even though he's trying fake seriousness on for size. Pete stops trying to put the cash in Patrick's hands and slips it into one of the tip boxes on the counter before any of them can protest.

"No! I mean, don't, please, you just saved my fucking ass." Patrick objects and Pete takes a sip from his sugar bomb drink before saying 

"Well... There is something you can do to repay me if you _really_ wanna be all Dudley Do-Right about it." Pete lays it on thick and Patrick is so fucking charmed. "You could give me your number." 

The opening chimes resonate through the mall and Pete looks crestfallen. 

"Way ahead of you," Patrick says, picking up a cup and tapping the side of it. Pete quickly looks to the side of his own cup where Patrick's 312 number is scrawled in Sharpie. 

"Your handwriting is terrible," Pete quips. 

"So is your shirt," Patrick fires back. 

"See you tomorrow," Pete calls out as he walks backwards away from the Starbucks booth, where a line is beginning to form. Patrick waves goodbye. 

***

On Patrick's lunch break, he checks his texts. There's one from an unknown 847 number that reads " _hey tricky_ " followed by a coffee emoji and that one stupid purple devil emoji, who the fuck even uses that anyway, and he can't control the flush of his cheeks at the mere sight of it. 

Oh god, he's fucked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this took so long friends ik i'm terrible


	3. i can feel the weather in my bones

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "So, does this count as our first date?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> title from tiffany blews

He can't fucking take it anymore. 

Patrick is almost carried out of Water Tower Place by the bottlenecked crowd. He spills out the door and makes a run for it. Well, it's less a run and more a brisk, shivery walk. He has decided to take his full half hour lunch break today. He usually sticks around the booth, sitting at a table in the food court and keeping an eye on his underlings in case they get truly overwhelmed by customers. They always do, and he always ends up throwing away what is arguably the best part of his sandwich, i.e. the last few bites, to handle whatever unnecessary bullshit his poor baristas are dealing with. The last time he actually took the full half hour he is legally required to take was sometime around last Christmas, likely for very similar reasons. Actually, now that he thinks about it, it was precisely the same reason. He _had_ to get out of there; it was really starting to wear through his patience in a way that would likely have resulted in a screaming match with the next goddamn person who asked for something and then slammed it back down on the counter claiming it wasn't what they wanted. 

Patrick shakes his head and grits his teeth, feeling his frustration knit his brows together despite himself. He came out here to cool down, literally and figuratively, and now he has to duck in somewhere within reasonable walking distance and find sustenance. The Einstein's Bagels a block away is a godsend in the early mornings, and he could really use some kind of breakfast sandwich accompanied by definitely some non-Starbucks coffee right about now. He crosses Michigan Avenue between cars against the light and glances over at Topshop as he passes it. His hand clenches involuntarily around his phone in his pocket, and he opens his fingers, shaking his head. He reasons that it would be stupid and a little too forward to text Pete only to find out that he probably took his lunch break an hour and a half ago, like a normal person.

Patrick huffs out a breath and it clouds the air around him. He's not doing a good job of calming down. He concentrates on taking the anger out of his stride as he approaches Einstein's Bagels, only to read the sign on the door that says CLOSED in big black letters. 

"FUCK!" Patrick kicks at a clump of snow adhered to the no parking sign across from the closed shop. He's now just wasted 15 minutes of his 30 minute lunch break without even managing to acquire food. Of _course_ they're closed, they close at 2pm every day and it's now just past 2:30. "Fuuuuuck." He groans loudly again, not that it'll do him much good. 

"I mean, all you had to do was ask!" Someone yells at Patrick from across the street, and he looks up to see Pete waving at him from where he sits on a reasonably not-snow-covered bench. Patrick is immediately mortified, he never loses his shit like this. He forces a wave and a half-smile as his cheeks flame. He wants to melt into the slush on the street. Pete waves him over and Patrick's politeness compels him to oblige. He hates himself so much right now. 

"Hey! You look like you could use a bite," Pete says, and holds out a plastic container. 

"I..." Patrick is overwhelmed by Pete's gratitude after he just saw him act like such a colossal ass not thirty seconds ago. "I couldn't, you need to eat whatever's in there." 

"Trust me, I don't. My coworker in the men's section doesn't like dumplings--" Patrick's mouth waters. He knows exactly where they're from; that dumpling place just downstairs in Water Tower Place that always smells so good and has too long a line to even consider trying to acquire the delicious nuggets. "--and I have already eaten about five thousand of them. Please take them; if you don't, they'll get thrown away." 

Patrick hesitates and Pete shoves the dumplings at him with a grin. He takes them and ducks his head sheepishly in thanks. 

"Thank you, thank you so much. Please let me pay you back--" Pete cuts him off with a hand gesture. Patrick attempts the sentence again and Pete is not having it. He draws breath to try again, and Pete raises a finger before he even utters a sound with a "don't you dare" expression on his face that actually makes Patrick shut up. Not even because he's accepted Pete's kindness, no, that would be too simple and not embarrassing enough. That gesture and look combined send goosebumps down Patrick's arms. He can almost feel his pupils dilate and he has to look away. 

"Thanks so much, I was seriously considering autocannibalism." He quips. Pete laughs like it's the funniest thing he's ever heard and Patrick feels his cheeks heat up. Pete's laughing fades out as he pulls his scarf off. He uses it to brush the last remnants of snow off the bench next to him and he pats it gently, indicating that Patrick should sit. He is using all his facial muscle control to not stand there with his mouth open; who the fuck actually does things like that, honestly. Patrick sits for wont of a better response and opens the container. The dumplings smell even better than Patrick remembered. 

"You're hilarious. I would never let a friend starve." Pete hands him a fork and Patrick thanks him again before biting into one of the little rolls of pure joy. 

"Mmmmhhhfffffff." Patrick tries to articulate some sort of affirmative grunt through a mouthful of dumpling. 

"I'm so glad you're eating these, dude, I legit would have tossed them. Anyway, how's business?" Pete talks easily until Patrick finishes chewing and swallowing. 

"Fucking the fucking worst." Patrick spears another dumpling viciously. He didn't intend to tell the truth instead of the standard "it's retail, how do you think it's going", but Pete is possibly the easiest, most go-with-the-flow conversationalist he's ever met and it's just _happening_ , he can't stop himself. Whatever, it's not like Pete doesn't already think he's a total whack job what with the snow kicking and obscenity yelling over a bagel. "So many entitled douchebags." He stuffs the dumpling in his mouth to stem the tide of complaints. 

"Dude, I'm sorry. That's the worst. I mean, I know I don't have to tell you that, but I feel you." Pete supplies, a sympathetically sad expression on his face so genuine that Patrick finds himself wanting to ask _him_ what's wrong. 

"No, I'm sorry, it's fine, it's just the usual." Patrick shakes his head; who wants to hear about stupid shitty barista problems when they also work in retail and must get their own fair share of garbage customers. 

"Yeah, but even the usual can get to you sometimes. And I can tell this wasn't just the usual." Pete says, words ringing with true insight. He had seen right past Patrick's politeness filter and hit at exactly the problem. _Damn _, he's kind of amazing. Patrick can't look him in the eye cause he's right and cause he's really, really gorgeous and Patrick is really, really a mess.__

__"Hey," Pete reaches out a gloved hand and tips Patrick's chin toward him like in a _fucking_ movie. Patrick doesn't even know what the fuck to do. "It's okay, I'm sorry, you don't want to talk about it so let's talk about how fuckin' cold out it is." _ _

__"No, I just, I don't want to regale you with the same shit you deal with all the time." Patrick likes this honesty. Likes how easy it is. "Customer service jobs fucking suck and I know you deal with all of that too. Just the fact that you actually understand how frustrating it is makes me feel a little better, honestly. You're really... great to talk to." He finishes lamely._ _

__Pete looks surprised, taken aback, and then golden-retriever happy, in that order._ _

__"I'm glad I could help," Pete says in that lovestruck-Colin-Firth-In-Every-Romance-Movie sort of way, and Patrick canNOT help but give into the moment, smiling and ducking his head a little, thinking it would hide his blush. "You've got a little," Pete takes off a glove, leans forward, and brushes something, probably the remains of a dumpling, off of Patrick's face._ _

__Patrick can tell Pete wants to lean in further but that he won't do it. It's either one of two things: some Zooey-Deschanel's-love-interest-in-a-slightly-misogynistic-indie-movie shy chivalry bullshit or genuine nervousness and respect. Patrick is not sure that he can _take_ the unfettered sweetness of what he knows is the real answer so he closes the distance himself. Fucking fuck you, Zooey Deschanel's shitty love interest. _ _

__Pete's lips are cold against his, of fucking course they are, it's the middle of December. The tree above them has white christmas lights threaded through its snow-covered branches and Pete cups a hand around the back of Patrick's head--how fucking hot is that--and flicks his tongue into Patrick's mouth. All that's missing is a goddamn choir singing some Christmas carol, except that would make this so far out of the realm of real actual life that Patrick almost laughs at the very thought. This is already so god damned fucking lovely that he can't imagine how it is his real actual life. After a moment of both of them getting lost in the kiss, Pete pulls back, smiling with his wet lips and says_ _

__"So, does this count as our first date?"_ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SURPRISE MOTHAFUCKAS
> 
> two updates in two days, who doesn't suck? THAT'S RIGHT, ME. 
> 
> also, i know that if this fic ever really takes off i'm gonna have to eat pavement from other chicagoans so let me just get this out of the way prematurely. YES, I KNOW THAT WATER TOWER PLACE DOESN'T HAVE A STARBUCKS IN IT IRL. i got the einstein's and the actual real starbucks that are both within a block of it, pete works at a real topshop/topman store that's directly across the street from water tower place, but i made up the starbucks because i genuinely thought there was one in there. turns out it was a godiva chocolatiers, which, shut up. i don't spend a lot of time in the literal richest part of my corrupt ass city so fight me
> 
> also if you're not from chicago and you'd rather have a (yes i know this is passe but leave me alone ok) tl;dr, i am a Fake Fan of the Magnificent Mile and i don't want anyone to drag me for it cause i'm aware. 
> 
> that being said i hope you enjoyed and i will return soon with another teeth-rottingly cute update 
> 
> last thing: if you want to know what's playing in Pete's head every time he looks at Patrick, do yourself a favor and listen to hourglass by catfish and the bottlemen.


End file.
